Page 20 of The Wrong Bride
The man came down the stairs, tall, thin, but Riona suspected his build was deceptive. Though she’d seen men wearing wigs in Scotland, his brown hair was bare and tied back. His plaid was belted meticulously about his waist and the end draped up over his shoulder, where a brooch gleamed. He approached McCallum, who still sat atop his horse, as if he ranked above all the clansmen gathered before him. And he did.
Dermot patted the horse’s neck nonchalantly, eyeing McCallum, who said something else in Gaelic, then gestured toward Riona and switched into English.
“I am home with my betrothed, come to stay and take up my rightful place within the clan. Ye’ve done well, Dermot, and I appreciate the care ye’ve given my people.”
“Ourpeople,” Dermot said coolly. “We are all McCallums at heart, are we not?”
Someone briefly cheered, but it died away when no one joined in. Riona’s spirits rose a bit. McCallum was not the invincible chief he’d portrayed to her. Dermot obviously disapproved of a laird who’d been gone for so long. But she wouldn’t make the mistake of screaming that she’d been kidnapped. There was a long history among the clans of healing feuds with the help of an unwilling bride. If she tried to win the support of the McCallums, she’d be doing nothing but ensuring that the clan would rally around its chief.
With a little patience and persuasion, perhaps there was a way she could win her freedom, she thought, eyeing Dermot.
CHAPTER 6
Hugh followed Dermot up the stairs to the great hall, holding on to his patience by the narrowest rope. He’d been elected chief after his father died, even though he hadn’t been at Larig Castle. He’d corresponded with Dermot, had assumed all would be well, but his uncertain reception today irritated him. Had his cousin thought he’d have free rein over the clan for months or years?
The great hall was as he remembered it, and he turned to see Riona’s eyes widen as she took in the high beamed ceiling, the clan armor and weapons on the walls, and the ancient tapestries displaying the stories of the McCallums. Preparations were under way for supper, since the trestle tables were being set up by servants.
Hugh remembered how his father would enter this room like a king, taking his place at the dais and waiting for his gentlemen to beg his favor orto give their reports. But Hugh wasn’t going to be his father—he would earn his command by earning the respect of his gentlemen and household, not their fear.
The men gathered around him, and though Dermot’s smile was perfunctory, many of the younger men wore grins of welcome. Upon spying Riona at his side, they asked eager questions in English of how things were in London and Edinburgh these many years. He could practically see Riona’s ears perk up, and knew everything about today had increased her curiosity.
He raised his hands for quiet. “Enough, enough, we’ve time for this at supper. My betrothed needs to refresh herself, as do Samuel and I.”
“Your rooms have been ready for days, Laird McCallum,” said Mrs. Wallace hurrying toward him and wearing a broad grin and twinkling eyes beneath her lace cap. “’Twill be fine to have ye home for good.”
But Hugh was aware of the murmurs in the hall from the men not crowding as close. The older clansmen remembered the childish behavior of his youth, and would have reservations about his ability to lead. And as for the events that had transpired when he’d been recovering from wounds sustained at Sheriffmuir? That wouldn’t have been forgotten either, though the young woman had been dead almost ten years.
Mrs. Wallace turned to Riona expectantly, and if she had any concerns about a Duff making herself at home at Larig Castle, she didn’t show it.
“Mrs. Wallace,” Hugh said formally, “may I present Lady Catriona Duff, soon to be my wife.”
The housekeeper bobbed a little curtsy. Riona nodded her head hesitantly, but to Hugh’s relief, she didn’t make any protest. He’d wondered if Riona would bring up the kidnapping when they arrived, but so far, she’d been circumspect. He hoped that meant that at last she was accepting their inevitable marriage. Perhaps it had begun when they’d woken up together at the inn, after so naturally turning to each other in their sleep.
But by looking into Riona’s lovely face, he couldn’t tell one way or another what she was thinking.
“Come, Laird McCallum, Lady Catriona,” Mrs. Wallace said, leading the way. “’Twill be your first time in the chief’s rooms,” she added over her shoulder to Hugh.
They followed her up the curving staircase built into the square tower just outside the great hall. On the second floor, a central corridor ran along a series of bedrooms. The last one took up one end of the towerhouse, several rooms overlooking the courtyard and gardens below, and beyond, the whole Balquhidder Glen in which Loch Voil nestled. He stood at the window and remembered thinking that when the sun shone, the loch looked like a jewel.
Behind him, Mrs. Wallace gestured to the dark wood wainscoting that covered the walls, as in most of the family rooms, talking to Riona about the Scottish landscapes hung there, but Hugh only paid half a mind. The large four-poster occupied its place of prominence against one wall, its curtains woven of the McCallum tartan. A massive wardrobe for hanging garments resided next to a chest of drawers, while several chests with lids lined a wall. At a writing bureau near the window, his father had done much of his correspondence, and the old man’s wig stand still rested on the dressing table. Hugh grimaced. He was not a man made for hot, uncomfortable wigs, regardless that they were the fashion.
Mrs. Wallace led Riona through the dressing room where his parents had once entertained close friends, and then into the mistress’s bedroom. Hugh followed and stood leaning against the door frame, watching Riona’s expressive face as she took in the lightly colored wainscoted walls, the delicate furniture in a French style. Instead of a four-poster, this room had a box-bed built into the far wall, with tartan curtains to enclose the bed in privacy. There was an elegant writing desk, and on the dressing table rested a swivel mirror. Nothing but the best for his mother, he thought, repressing the usual surge of bitterness. At least this would not be his mother’s room again.
Riona put a hand on the bathing tub that alreadyrested before the fire. Her expression looked . . . relieved.
“I’ll leave ye to your bath and Mrs. Wallace’s excellent care,” Hugh said.
Riona gave him a long look, but only nodded.
“If ye need anything, ye know where to find me.”
RIONAwatched as the door closed, saying nothing, wondering if he would really give her the privacy she hadn’t known for two weeks. Mrs. Wallace eyed her curiously for a moment, then bustled to the wardrobe and opened it.
“Ye’ll find plenty of things to wear in here, Lady Catriona,” Mrs. Wallace said. “Some will have to be taken in, I’m sure, but ye know the lacin’ on others will do wonders to adjust to yer fine figure.”
“You’ve noticed I’ve come with no garments of my own,” Riona said with a trace of bitterness.
“I ken ’tis a long journey from England, my lady,” Mrs. Wallace said gently. “Ye did not remember how remote we are here in the Highlands?”
